Broken Connection
by Psyche29
Summary: What was it like for George immediately following Fred's death?


**A/N: ****This was written in response to a challenge; the topic given was "George's Life Without Fred: Initial Thoughts and Feelings on His Twin's Death." As ever, ****I am not now, have never been, and will not ever be JK Rowling; I am merely playing in her exquisite sandbox.**

It started out as a dull ache in his chest; a throbbing pulse of the heart had him rubbing at it as he raced through the castle. _What spell or curse didn't I manage to dodge?_

As he neared the section of the castle that had been blown apart the pain became more intense, as though a thousand tiny men with a thousand tiny hammers had been loosed through his veins. _What WAS that curse? I know of no curse with this effect._

Rounding the corner and finding Percy on the floor, crying and nearly hysterical had the tiny men switching over to tiny ice picks, sharp and stabbing. _What the hell? I think I'm dying, and the git STILL can't take a joke._

A body with a shock of red hair was beneath Percy, and George lost his breath as the pain bloomed brilliantly white-hot. His vision blurred, and he murmured, "Oi, Fred – stop teasing the prat and help me, I think a curse hit me."

He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, one hand rubbing back and forth over his chest gingerly, trying to discourage the tiny soldiers attempting to open him up from the inside out. _Honestly, guys – give it a rest, you'll never get out that way._ Vaguely, the sounds around him drifted away, and he heard the voice he knew best in all the world.

"_George, wake up._"

"_Fred! Oi, mate, about time. He never could handle a good tease. Fred, I think I'm -_ "

"_You're not dying. And no, he sure couldn't take it. But it's not a joke this time, George._"

George snorted. "_Liar. You're talking to me, I can hear you just fine. Just because I've lost an ear and been nailed with something wonky doesn't mean my brain's been fried. And why don't you sound more panicky about me?_"

Fred's laugh soothed the pain some, and George grinned stupidly as Fred replied quietly, "_Come on, Twinnikins – let's get you to the Great Hall._"

George kept his eyes closed, trusting Fred to lead the way, and when his twin said, "_OK, sit here, now,_" George sat obediently. He felt fingers brush across his forehead, and spells being cast over him, the magic working its way through to clean out any spell damage.

"_Feel better yet?_" came Fred's voice once more.

"_No – Merlin's shorts, what was I hit with?_"

"_You weren't hit with anything, Georgie. It's me._"

Alarmed now, George stiffened up in the chair as he sputtered, "_But…but you're here, I can hear you!_"

"_I told you it wasn't a joke, you tosser. Don't you think it's a bit strange that all you can hear right now, in the midst of battle, in the middle of a crowded Great Hall, is me?_"

George jerked a bit and started to open his eyes, but Fred's voice went on, "_NO! Don't open them yet, just – just stay still a minute. You weren't hit with anything, not a spell or curse. You're fine. I, however, got nailed. I'm gone._"

George said nothing, didn't move a muscle. The tiny men in his chest had all paused in mid-swing at Fred's statement, and finally, finally George whispered, "_You lie. That's not a funny joke, Fred._"

"_It's not supposed to be funny, you berk. I'm not exactly pleased about it – I had plans, for the love of Merlin._"

The silence stretched between them until Fred said, "_Mum needs you. You need to open your eyes, George._"

"_I don't wanna,_" he responded petulantly.

With more patience than he'd ever shown in his entire life, George heard Fred say, "_Come on. Take my hand - _" George felt a warm hand slide into his own. "_That's it, now open your eyes._"

He opened them, and all the sights and sounds came flooding into his brain. The first thing he heard was his Mum's choked voice, a shrieked, "GEORGE!"

He gripped the hand in his tightly, but it took him a few minutes to find the person to whom it belonged. Sliding his gaze down, he found his mirror image, looking highly amused in his sleep. In that instant, all one thousand of the men in his chest landed one collective, sharp stab, then went back to pounding with hammers.

George felt his breath rush out, finally understanding that the only thing he'd been hit with was the sudden severing of the one constant in his life, the loss of that most basic connection. And grieving in a way he never knew was possible, he crawled down onto the pallet, curled up next to his world, closed his eyes and wept.

When the silent sobs had wound down into quiet hiccups of breath, George heard Fred's voice again in his head. "_You cry like a girl._"

A laugh hiccupped out and George replied, "_You cry like a puppy who's just been punished for going on the floor, so I think I win, you loser._"

Fred laughed in response, and George went on, "_Will these tiny ice-pickers ever stop trying to make their way out of my chest?_"

"_No. But you'll go on, anyway. The world needs joy and laughter._"

"_The world needs you, dumb-ass._"

"_They've just got you now, and in case you missed it, we look exactly the same. Now stop being girly all over me, I have to go._"

"_Fine, fine._" George paused, then sighed again as he felt himself squeezed in a brotherly hug that was in no way human.

Not long after, he heard Charlie's voice in his ear. "George – come on, George, they have to move him. You have to get up."

George wound his way through the maze in his head and opened his eyes, allowing Charlie to help him up. He looked down at his hand, still clasped in Fred's now-cold one, then gently disentangled his own and set Fred's at his side.

Following Charlie out of the Great Hall, the tiny men began their painful beating once more. Life would never be the same.

**I would love to hear thoughts!**


End file.
